


Sweet Jams

by BlameMyMuses



Series: Beat and Melody [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alien Culture, F/M, Fluff, Moirails, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, slumber parties are horrifying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-26
Updated: 2013-09-26
Packaged: 2017-12-27 16:01:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/980868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlameMyMuses/pseuds/BlameMyMuses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave and Aradia's first feelings jam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Jams

It is the best pile. It really is. You think he probably asked for Kanaya's, or maybe Karkat's, advice on how to build one, because you know for a fact piles are not a thing humans do. And he's sitting there, amid the heap of bones and broken pottery and fading, improperly developed photos and shitty swords, looking awkward and nervous. And you're nervous too, because this is your first official feelings jam since the two of you became moirails.

 

You smile and move to sit next to him.

 

“It's a lovely pile, Dave,” you say, because he needs to hear it. He shifts, then shrugs, but he's starting to smile too.

 

“So what now?” he asks, and it's strange to realize that he wasn't schoolfed embarrassing lectures on what a first feelings jam is supposed to be like, or awkward diagrams about the best place to pap one's moirail based on hemostatus (and, oh, shit, you just realized you don't actually know anything about soothing a _human_ anymore than he knows about soothing a troll!). He's going into this blind, for your sake.

 

And he's still waiting for an answer. Your smile grows and you lean closer to take his sunglasses from his face.

 

He protests, of course, but you just quietly captchalogue them so they're out of his reach.  
  
“Now,” you say, “we talk. About things that are bothering us, or that we're worried about, or anything really. The point of a pile is that it's a safe zone, where nothing said will be used against the other.” That's nearly word-for-word the schoolfeed lecture. It's easy to lay it out for him like this. “Moirallegiance is about trust. So no hiding behind your shades, no shrugging in place of answering. We use our _words_ in a feelings jam. That's kind of the point.”

 

He swallows, and you've learned enough about his lusus-hatchmate-ancestor to know that talking is not really a thing he's used to doing. But he nods, eyes locked on yours, and he's got that little touch of a grin happening, so you think he's ready to jam.

 

“Like a slumber party, then. Telling secrets, braiding hair, doin' our nails. Ours will be the prettiest nails on this whole damn asteroid.”

 

“We can start with cultural exchanges,” you say, interested as ever in the practices of others—it's why you'd always loved archaeology, after all! “What's a slumber party?”

 

He tells you. You are, frankly, horrified. A bunch of “friends” invading your hive, eating your food, having a weird pale orgy seemingly for the sole excuse of getting blackmail material on each other, and then you're expected to just _sleep_? With them all _right there_?! It sounds like one of your worst nightmares, and for some reason he finds it amusing when you demand to know what's to stop any of them from killing the rest once they've gone to sleep.  
  
It's weird. Humans are weird. And you wind up telling him about your excavations, from before you died. And he's actually interested! Tells you all about how he used to keep little dead things preserved in jars, and that makes you just squirm with happiness because finally— _finally!—_ here's someone who isn't afraid of dead things. Trolls live with the imminent threat of death hanging overhead every day, but you've found that most still fear it. But Dave? No, he takes photos of it, keeps it close, like a reminder. Like your ghosts stay close.  
  
You can't help it. You're so happy, sitting in his beautiful first attempt at a pile, and so you just start purring, no sense in being embarrassed about it. Schoolfeeds said it was a normal reaction, anyway. He looks surprised (and you're really glad you took his shades, he's so much easier to read like this, all wide-eyed and long-lashed—delicate, almost, and _gog_ you pity him, poor stupid clueless human), and then he's blushing, which makes you laugh a bit.

 

“Didn't know trolls purred,” he says.

 

You're blushing, but grin anyway. “When we're happy,” you say, but you mean “when we're safe”.

 

And you are safe. Dave's a knight, after all. He might not know the first thing about what it's like to lose one's grub legs, or the dull headaches that come from still-growing horns, but he knows safe. When it surprises neither of you to find the pair of you holding hands, you know he knows safe, and feels it too.


End file.
